Heart and Soul
by Catdragon513
Summary: [AU] Dean is a homicide detective working in a large city in Kansas, his home state. While on duty one day, he collapses, and discovers at the hospital that he is facing death. Determined to live, he opts for a major surgery, one that will change his life forever. But a mysterious killer is on the loose, and Dean's going to need a lot of help to stop them. (DESTIEL)
1. Broken Heart

"Stop! Police!" Detective Dean Winchester shouted, leveling his M1911 Colt at the suspect. The man stopped running, hands in the air. The 8 foot tall chain link fence made a perfect clichéd dead end, the jackass had nowhere to go.

"Get on the fucking ground! Hands behind your head!" In broad daylight, it was easy to see him do exactly as ordered. It didn't have to be this hard, all Dean wanted to do was bring the guy in for questioning. And then the idiot ran. Like that's not incriminating at all.

As he slapped cuffs on who he was now certain was the perp, his partner came up behind him panting and sweaty. Dude really needed to work out, especially on his cardio.

"Well," Crowley said, breathing heavily, "You caught the runner." His tone of voice was agitating, and his accent made him sound uppity. Dean scoffed, tugging the criminal to his feet, marching him towards the car.

"Yeah, like I always do," Dean said, "Maybe then I wouldn't always make _you_ do the interrogations." Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. Dean turned the corner, then stopped suddenly.

His heart was pounding, but this wasn't adrenaline, it wasn't the thrill of the hunt. Something was wrong. His head felt light, and he was out of breath. The world spun and his heart skipped a beat. His chest tightened, and a sharp pain like a knife went through his sternum. He stumbled, and hit the concrete heavily. The last thing he heard before the world went back was Crowley shouting his name.

Dean came to on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. He groaned, hearing EMTs make note of his vitals. He still felt short on breath, and his chest ached. Many complex terms were tossed back and forth, like "arrhythmia" or something like that. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. One doc put a stethoscope to his chest and had him take deep breaths. The look on her face told him it wasn't good. He closed his eyes and made a loud grumble of agitation to make sure the emts knee he didn't faint again. If this was nothing, he was never going to hear the end of it from Crowley. If it was bad… Well, he wasn't going to think about that.

They wheeled him into the E.R., rattling off his symptoms to a doctor who would take over his main care. Once he was in his "room", that he was sharing with some random kid, they took his medical history. The nurse was very focused on heart problems in particular, and he was getting pretty frustrated with not knowing what's going on. The nurse then asked to listen to Dean's lungs. A red flag went up in Dean's mind, recalling the EMT's concern over something they heard. Dean agreed, lifting his undershirt. The metal was cold on his chest.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on?" He asked the guy. The nurse frowned, listening to his breathing. Dean's chest still felt fluttery, and his heart hadn't quite gone back to normal, but it was getting there. Breathing was less difficult, and his head felt much better, minus the bump and scrape he got when he fainted.

"Have you experienced any swelling in your legs or feet? Maybe in your neck?" The nurse started to palpate his neck, feeling his glands.

"Uh, maybe a little? Like after a long day sometimes my shoes feel tight." He had no idea what this had to do with anything, "What does that have to do with me fainting?" The nurse crossed his arms and looked around.

"What about an irregular heartbeat and shortness of breath?" Dean frowned.

"Yeah, usually after I run or workout. Everyone gets tired after exercise." The nurse sighed.

"I shouldn't be telling you this, it's the doctor's job. But you're exhibiting symptoms of late stage cardiomyopathy."

"Cardiomyo-what now?" Dean asked, concerned.

"It's a thickening of the heart muscle. The tissue becomes enlarged and rigid, making it difficult to pump oxygen properly, and can cause fluid buildup, swelling, shortness of breath, and dizziness. You've got most of the obvious symptoms. Your doctor will probably order some tests to see if that's the problem, then we'll go from there." The nurse looked back at the door, "I have to get back to work, change into your gown and lie down. If you need to use the bathroom, page a nurse. We don't want you doing anything to exert yourself." Dean nodded solemnly as the nurse left the room.

He pulled out his phone and called his younger brother Sam. He'd probably ditch class and come visit him here as soon as he hears. The phone rang once, then again and went straight to voicemail. Sammy's definitely in class right now. His next move was to call Crowley.

"Hello Squirrel," The snarky bastard answered immediately, "Glad to know you're alive and well."

"Hello to you too," Dean rolled his eyes, "I'm in the hospital, apparently there's something pretty wrong so I'll be out for a while, no idea how long. You get back to the precinct okay? Did the guy talk?"

"Yes and yes. I'll let your best friend Luci know that you won't be back in for a while due to your emergency. In the meantime, I'll take care of everything. You enjoy your beauty sleep. Ta-ta." Crowley hung up. Dean sighed and let his head drop back onto the pillow. He looked at the hospital gown at the foot of the bed. Ugh, he hated hospitals.

Now appropriately dressed, he relaxed back into the bed. The little box tv that was bolted to the wall was playing some kind of kids cartoon. Dean figured it must be the kid on the other side of the curtain watching. He took a swig of the water the nurse had left for him and started to check his emails on his phone. Might as well do something while he waited for the doctor. Or for Sammy to get out of class. Whichever came first.

Turns out, Sam's class ended before the doctor came in. Dean answered the phone in the most cheerful tone he could manage. "Hey Sammy!"

"Dean? What's going on?" Sam said, "You never call during the day." Yeah, cause he was usually at work.

"Yeah, there was a mishap at work, but I'm okay. I'm in the hospital-"

"Hospital!?" Sammy practically shouted, "Dean if you're in the hospital you are not okay!"

Dean flinched and grimaced, "Yeah alright, I'm not okay. I don't know what's going on. And they aren't going to let me walk without doing some tests. I'm still waiting on the doctor. They don't even want me walking right now… Look Sammy, I know it's crazy, but I want you to finish your classes for today before coming here."

"I just did." Sam said, sounding like he's power walking. Kid's freakishly long legs would have him at his car in no time. "I'll be there soon. You call Dad?"

"No. Dad doesn't need to know." Dean frowned. His dad was always distant. Even though Dean had done everything expected of him, went to the Police Academy, got promoted to his old man's old job, and the guy still wasn't proud of him. Sam didn't answer. "I gotta go, don't know when the doc is gonna get in but I shouldn't keep 'em waiting while I'm on the phone."

"Yeah, see you soon Dean."

"See you." Dean ended the call and looked around the room quietly. Now to wait some more. Ahh, emails.

30 minutes later, the doctor walked into the room, followed closely by Sam. Awesome, they both finally got here.

"Hey Dean." Sam said with a worried smile. Dean grinned cheerfully, masking the concern in his heart.

"Hey Sammy!" He said, "Hey Doc, what's the word?"

"I've gone over your symptoms, Mr. Winchester. I'd like to run some tests if that's okay with you." Dean nodded as the nurse from before walked back into the room. "We're going to be doing the routine bloodwork, but I have you scheduled for an EKG and a chest x-ray later today. We're a little worried about your heart." Dean through a glance at the nurse, who was prepping his arm for the needle.

"What's wrong with it?" Dean asked.

"Hopefully nothing, but right now you're exhibiting symptoms of dilated cardiomyopathy. The tests will tell us what's really going on. You should have nothing to worry about." The doctor made some notes on her clipboard.

"Alrighty, well if you could email me some kinda doctor's note, I'd like to have proof for my boss if you don't mind. And maybe your number too, in case of an emergency…" Dean winked. Sam rolled his eyes, and the doctor was unfazed.

"I can send the note for you, Mr. Winchester. If you need anything, you may pull the cord for the nurses." And she left the room. Dean winced as the nurse stuck the butterfly into his vein. He watched in silence as the tube filled with his blood, and splashed into the vials. The nurse took several of them, then pulled the needle out and gave him a little bandage to cover it up.

Sam sat in the visitor's chair, his face looking grim as he stared at his phone. Dean, put off by his brother's mood, turned his focus to the television. Still children's cartoons, but Dean wasn't going to admit he'd gotten kinda into it while watching. The kid in the other bed was pretty chill, especially considering her nasty broken leg. She was waiting on surgery to screw her shin bone back together.

"Dean…" Sam started, "I looked up that thing that the doctors are going to test you for… Cardiomyopathy… It's not good."

"Don't worry Sammy, you know I can take anything the world throws at me. I _always_ bounce back!" Dean smiled, lifting his arms to flex teasingly. Sam didn't look convinced, but he shut his mouth surprisingly fast. This wasn't like his little brother. Dean's smiled faded as he grew concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Dean, if they're right, it could kill you." Sam's eyes grew wet, "You might need major surgery, and I'm scared that you could die before you get better." Dean had been trying to block thoughts like that out. He knew that if something was wrong with his heart, it couldn't possibly end well for him.

"Well, if I die, feel free to kick my behind," Dean forced a stupid grin. Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"Behind?" He asked, completely caught off guard by Dean's choice of language. Dean jerked his thumb at the curtain, which said everything Sammy needed to know. He wasn't going to say "ass" when the kid could hear him. Sam shook his head, looking at least a little cheered up.

The hours ticked by. Sam had opened up his laptop and started on his homework. Dean was proud of his little brother, his intelligence, his drive for success. It's no wonder this kid is in law school. Dean had gone back to his phone, forwarding the doctor's note to Lucifer, his supervisor. The only reply he got was a short "okay". Well at least that was taken care of.

Then some more doctors came to roll him to the x-ray room where they took several images of his chest. Dean repressed a sigh as he stood stiffly in the lead vest, while the machine snapped pictures. He then turned to the side and they took more. The techs came back into the room to relieve him of the vest, then he was in the wheelchair again for his EKG.

In the new room, Dean eased himself down onto the table. More techs pulled his cloth gown down so it bared his chest. He shivered as they adhered several sticky electrodes to his chest, arms, and legs. They asked him to relax and breathe normally. He closed his eyes and did as he was asked. After what felt like forever, they peeled the stickers off, wiping the remaining goo from his skin.

They rolled him into the next room, which had another EKG machine and a treadmill. Dean listened as one tech applied new electrodes, he would be required to walk at a brisk pace while they recorded his heartbeat again. Dean stood up and stepped onto the machine, holding the handrails and placing his feet on the stationary sides. The tech started the treadmill and Dean started walking. It took 10 minutes of speed walking before the test was over. Dean sat down heavily in the wheelchair and he was rolled back to his room.

Sam was pacing anxiously in the hall, but looked relieved when Dean returned. He helped his older brother back into the hospital bed and thanked the nurse when they were informed that the results would be back in the morning.

"You go home, Sammy." Dean said, "I don't want to keep Jess from you, and you have class again tomorrow." Sam frowned, but didn't argue. He gave Dean a hug instead, and left with promises to come back as soon as he finished class for the day. Dean smiled and waved him goodbye, then put the bed into a horizontal position and tried to get some sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, Dean discovered that he _loved_ hospital food. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a glass of orange juice. The breakfast of champions. The little girl next bed over went in for surgery about an hour later, giving Dean control of the TV. He flipped it to the next channel, where a reporter mentioned something about "another young adult dying of a stroke". Such a shame. Dean pressed the button again until he spotted the medical drama called Doctor Sexy. Now this he could get into.

Several hours later, his unconscious neighbor returned, and he mournfully switched the channel back to the kids shows for when she woke up. Doctor Sexy wasn't exactly appropriate for kids. He checked his emails again, paged the nurse for a bathroom trip, then browsed the internet some more.

His doctor walked in and politely coughed to get his attention. "Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, giving her one of his signature grins. Her expression didn't change.

"I've gone over your test results, and I'm afraid I have some bad news." Dean's face fell and his breath caught in his throat. "You are suffering from late stage dilated cardiomyopathy. If not taken care of, you will die."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "So… What options do I have?"

"Scarring in the heart muscles will make it too difficult to keep your heart going with medications, or even a pacemaker. Your best option is a heart transplant. We have a compatible heart available here, you could go into surgery as early as later today. I'd recommend taking your time, thinking it over-"

"There's nothing to think about. If I don't get that transplant, I'll die. Whatever forms you need me to sign, I'll do it. I've got too much to lose if I don't." The doctor was silent for a minute. Then she nodded and went to print out the necessary paperwork.

Dean picked up the phone and called Sam to let him know what was going on, leaving a lengthy voicemail. He put the cell down on the table and leaned back with his eyes closed. There was no way he was going to roll over and let himself die. No, he was going to live.


	2. Nightmares

_Dark. It's so dark._ He reached out as far as he could stretch his fingers, and felt nothing but the icy shadows _. Cold. Where am I?_ The silence was deafening. He couldn't even hear the blood rushing through his veins. His heart sat still in his chest, not beating. _No. Too light._ He felt like he was floating, and he groped at his chest to feel nothing. _Nothing there. Empty. Gone._

He couldn't remember how long he'd been drifting in the abyss. The darkness enveloped him like a blanket. _But… Wait._ In the distance, he saw the barest spark of light. A smouldering ember, like the tip of an extinguished match. _Bright. Warm._ He grasped at the spark, but it burned his fingers to get too close. _Hurts._ Searing pain lanced through his chest, and he screamed without a voice. _Silence._ Images flashed before his eyes. _So bright._ His eyes burned.

The light consumed him, and he found himself in a field of green. He squinted as the grass waved a greeting, the breeze almost too soft to feel. He walked through the evergreen, hands in his pockets, relishing the warmth of the sun. _This is paradise._ He smiled.

 _No…_ A voice called in the distance. It's silence lost in the stillness of the meadow. _No._ Again it cried, stronger this time. A sense of dread overwhelmed him. _No!_ He whirled about. _NO!_ The scream was ear-splitting, even without a voice. He clutched at his head in pain, falling to his knees.

In front of him was the Darkness again, and this time it came for him. He turned and ran back the way he came. The soundless wailing of the abyss closed in around him and he was gone.

Dean's eyes snapped open. He would have leapt up in a panic, but the anesthesia had made him sluggish. His limbs were heavy, and the light cloth gown was clinging to his chest and back with cold sweat. A passing nurse helped him drink some water and told him to hold tight while she fetched his family. Sammy.

The only relief he felt after that nightmare was the thought of his baby brother. Who was probably going to kill him for rushing into surgery without talking it out. Or waiting for him. What would Dean say? Heya Sammy, sorry about the whole jumping into dangerous surgery without taking the time to think it over? No, he didn't have to justify the desire to stay alive.

He shifted himself so that he could see the television better. His chest felt numb, and Dean dreaded the ache that was yet to come when the super painkillers from the surgery wore off. He slowly moved his arm to the collar of the gown, tugging it back to take a peek. His chest was covered with bandages and white gauze. It might start bleeding soon, but he wasn't sure. Surgery was a new experience for him. Anything could happen.

"Dean?" That wasn't Sam. He stared in shock at the man standing next to the curtain. He was fairly tall, roughly Dean's height, with an unkempt stubbly beard and thick, heavy brows. His face was blank, giving away no emotion. Hazel eyes watched him like a poker player, judging the situation. Dark circles under his eyes made his face look gaunt, like a corpse. John Winchester.

Dean stiffened in his bed, his face becoming hard and blank. "Dad." He said, fighting to hide his surprise. Despite his efforts, the heart monitor's steady beeping increased in speed and volume.

"To think, I had to hear from an old _coworker_ about my own son's hospitalization." John said, he didn't sound cold or malicious, but neither was he warm and compassionate. "Why didn't you call?"

"It's not that serious," Dean lied with a straight face, "I didn't want to worry you." His old man barked a laugh.

"Not that serious…" He shook his head, "A heart transplant, Dean." John paced back and forth. Even through the fading numbness, Dean could feel his new heart pounding in his chest with anxiety. "What the hell happened?"

"Dad?" Thank god, Sam stepped into the room, "What are you doing here?" Dean's brother didn't bother to conceal his surprise or annoyance. John and Sam had never gotten along, and had been refusing to acknowledge the other's existence since Sam had left for Stanford. This was more than likely the first time they'd spoken since then.

"Why am I not surprised that you're here, Sam?" John asked, too calm, his poker face betraying his disguised anger. Sam scowled. This was getting intense, Dean fretted. But then Sam turned away.

"Dean, how are you feeling? Your heart…?" Now that was odd. No lecture about rushing into things. No panicked concern for the risks involved. It was because John's here. Dean almost wanted to laugh. Good job taking the high road there, brother.

"I'm fine, there was… Uh, no complications." With his dad in the room, Dean couldn't help replying like he would to a military drill sergeant. Sam looked upset with his forced monotone response, and frowned at the heart monitor.

Thankfully, a passing hospital employee walked by and scolded the both of them for making Dean so tense, especially after a heart surgery. Dean didn't like Sammy getting caught up with their old man like that. Even without the fighting, or not fighting in the room, he still felt stressed and anxious.

Dean paged a nurse to go to the bathroom. Being wheeled past Sam and John was uncomfortable, but he needed to wash his face and cleanse himself of the tension. In the bathroom, it was just Dean. Finally. He'd been looking forward to seeing Sammy, but with his dad showing up, it's going to be impossible to see one without the other. How had John even found out about his hospitalization?

He mentioned a coworker, so someone at the precinct had mentioned it to him. Not Crowley, not Lucifer. Azazel? They were old cop buddies, buddies being a leap. Azazel was fairly close to Lucifer, so he'd probably heard from either their boss or from Crowley about his surprise health crisis. Azazel might have mentioned it at the cop bar where John liked to get drunk on a daily basis.

Dean shuddered and shook the thoughts out of his head. This is a medical vacation now, no getting worked up over his dad. Rest, relaxation, and healing only. He splashed some water on his face and stared down his reflection, searching for something to distract him. Dean stared himself down, focusing on his eyes.

He'd always been told he had his mother's eyes. Sort of. They were the shape of her eyes, but not the color. His own green eyes reminded him of the cold jade stones that decorated his favorite Chinese takeout place. Mary's eyes had been brown, and always looked so warm and welcoming in the old photo of her that he kept in a frame at his apartment.

Lost in nostalgic melancholy, he didn't notice when the face in the mirror shifted. Green eyes turned a steely blue-grey. His light brown hair turned black. When Dean spotted the change, he snapped back into reality with a jump. He winced in pain, sagging back into the wheelchair. His chest ached, and a stabbing sensation bit through his sternum. That's the part of the transplant that he wasn't looking forward to. Another look in the mirror showed only Dean. Green eyes and brown hair.

Uneasy and questioning his mental clarity, Dean returned to his room again. Past the ever watchful stares of Sam and John Winchester. Back in bed, he settled down to watch the cartoons. It was a decent distraction from the stress of the real world. And hopefully from his hallucination in the bathroom. Still, the face that wasn't his haunted his mind as exhaustion overtook him, seeping into his dreams.

He walked down the street, the collar of his tan trench coat turned up against the wind. His black dress shoes slapped against the sidewalk as he went on his way. This was the worst day to be late. First his car had broken down the morning of an important business meeting, and now it looked like it was going to rain. _It can't get much worse than this_ , he thought impatiently.

Except it could. A glance in a storefront window showed that his black hair had been ruffled by the stiff cold wind. _Ugh_. He narrowed his blue-grey eyes and frowned, but pressed on. If he could get to work fast enough, he could at least attempt to tame it before meeting with his client. Checking his watch, he knew that he would make it to the office with just enough time.

Ahead of him was a figure dressed head to toe in black. Their hands were stuffed in their pockets, and their hood pulled up. Their face concealed completely in shadow. They were walking in the direction he'd come from, and showed no sign of moving. He politely shifted out of their way, but just as he was about to pass, they moved. _Ouch_. Their shoulder knocked against his, so hard he was almost turned around by the force of it. He voiced a speedy apology and continued on his way.

Then, the world blurred over, and his fingers and toes went numb. _What?_ Bewildered, he stopped in his tracks, looking around the area in panic. The person in black was right behind him, waiting. His own face twisted with confusion as his body grew heavy with fatigue. _What's happening to me_? His head throbbed with pain, and his legs buckled. The strange figure was the last thing he saw as fell to the concrete and his vision went dark. _Help me_ …!

The heart monitor beeped steadily as Dean came to, showing no signs of an elevated heart rate. He blinked against the sunlight peeking through the blinds in the window. Dean shifted, about to roll over and go back to sleep until the pain in his chest reminded him why he'd been sleeping on his back. With a grimace, he reluctantly accepted that he was staying awake for now. The television in the corner was off, and there was silence on the other side of the curtain. His neighbor had checked out earlier that morning. In the corner, lying across a cushioned bench, was Sam. He must have spent the night.

Dean took the time to reflect on his dream. The face he saw reflected in the window was the same face from yesterday, the one in the mirror. Maybe he was too obsessed with it? His mind had played tricks on him and he had thought too hard and too much about it. Dean told himself firmly that he was being bothered by nothing.

His pep talk didn't go unnoticed. Sam stirred at the sound of Dean's words. He looked up, eyes slightly glazed over with sleep. "Dean?" He slurred, pushing himself stiffly into a sitting position. Dean smiled, both warmed by Sam's concern and amused by his brother's half awake face. If he'd had a camera, he'd have snapped a photo. Total Kodak moment right there.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," Dean said, hiding a grin. Sam's hair was plastered to one side of his face from sleeping on it, and drool shined on his cheek. Sam blinked and wiped his mouth on his arm.

"Hey," Sam replied, "Morning." He stretched out his limbs, and Dean didn't envy him the ache he must have developed from sleeping on a bench all night. The kid's huge, like a moose or giraffe or something. Way too big to sleep like that. Dean glanced at his phone, 8:46 am. Might as well have some breakfast. Sam offered to go to the cafeteria to fetch some grub, and Dean agreed. He may be independent, but like hell was he going to turn down the chance to be waited on hand and foot.

20 boring minutes passed, and his servant brother returned with a tray in each hand. Waffles with sausages and fresh berries, and a hot cup of coffee to go with it. Just what the doctor ordered, but not really. Amused by his own joke, one that he didn't even say out loud, Dean thanked Sam for the food and dug in. He didn't look up until a nurse walked into the room with a cup of water and some large pills.

Painkillers, she told him as she held out the cups, and immunosuppressing medication to prevent his body from rejecting his new heart. Dean gratefully took the drugs with a swig of water, thanking the nurse before she left to deliver more morning medication. Sam sipped his coffee, eyeing Dean with a worried look. Then Dean remembered that he'd only avoided a stern talking to yesterday because their father had made an appearance.

"Listen, Dean," Sam began, "About the surgery…" Oh boy, here it comes. "I understand why you jumped into it." Wait, what? "When your health is at risk like that… It's a life or death situation, and you picked life. There wasn't enough time to think it over, you'd have lost out on that heart and who knows how long it would take for a new one?" Sam's eyes got shiny as he spoke, and Dean could tell by the crack in his brother's voice that he was fighting back tears. Dean held out his arms.

"Come here Sammy," he said, and Sam complied. Dean wasn't one for chick flick moments, but his brother needed a hug and he wasn't going to deny him one. He felt his own eyes sting too, but he buried the urge to cry and released his brother. Sam returned to his bench and sighed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Don't get all weepy on me," Dean said, giving Sam a shit eating grin, "I'm the one with all the stitches here." Sam laughed, and rolled his eyes. Score, emotional moment successfully averted. Dean had no intention of telling Sam how much he had needed that hug too, but at the very least he had gotten away with it. Dean grabbed the remote and turned on the tv while Sam broke out the laptop to get started on some schoolwork. This is nice, Dean thought, I hope it stays like this for a long while.


	3. Named

It was day three of Dean's hospital stay. Today, like yesterday, was a day for rest and recovery. He'd been given some packets with information on how to take care of his stitches, how often to see the doctor and what to watch out for, suggestions for a heart healthy diet to maximize life expectancy, and how to avoid infections. The last pamphlet was the one Dean was paying the most attention to currently. Now that he was taking immunosuppressing drugs, he was going to be at risk of very dangerous infections. A common cold or flu could be deadly to him now.

It was actually kinda funny, in a morbid and ironic way. He'd always thought that it was going to be a criminal's gun that would be the end of him, if he was going to die young at al. Now it looked like he was more likely to bite the dust from the tiny-ass bad guys that he couldn't see. Oh well, Dean never really planned on living that long. The last thing he wanted was to become a drunk like John had in his old age.

Sam had left to go attend his classes, and Dean refused to let him spend the night again. His brother was too tall to sleep on the bench anyway, and the ache he'd woken up with the first time had stayed with him all day. Dean insisted that he go back to his apartment to his big bed with a comfy mattress, warm blankets, and a warm girlfriend.

Speaking of girlfriend, Jess had brought the boys lunch yesterday. There was something about food made by a girlfriend, even his brother's, that just made it taste better. Maybe the whole "made with love" thing actually had an effect. Growing up, he had been the one who did much of the cooking. There were weeks where the boys had eaten nothing but spaghetti o's and breakfast cereal. John had almost never cooked, he usually just brought home takeout from various restaurants when he was bothered to get food at all.

Today, at least so far, it was just Dean. Well, Dean and that face that he kept dreaming about. His frequent naps and restless sleep was filled with that man. But there was usually a shadow in his dreams. Sometimes, it swallowed the man up, or bumped into him on the street, or stalked him from around the corner. And then Dean would wake up. It left him feeling shaken up, and for the first time in forever, he was actually a little scared. He hadn't seen the man's face in the mirror again, but he knew that it was going to show up again. It left him with a sense of dread that was hard to distract himself from, and he hated acting like such a wuss. He couldn't help but feel like bad things were going to happen.

Dean absentmindedly rubbed his fingers over the thick layer of bandages wrapped around his chest. A nurse was going to come in at some point in the next hour or so with fresh gauze to help him clean the stitches. The wound was right on track with the scheduled healing time, and wasn't showing any signs of infection. Of course, Dean's doctor also prescribed an antibiotic, just in case.

After the first day, he'd decided to drop the macho man playboy act with her. The doctor wasn't amused, and since she was the one in charge of his medications, Dean really didn't want to antagonize her. He'd also apologized, which she appreciated. His last playful attempt to flirt was done while she was going over the things that he needed to avoid for the sake of his health. She'd very pointedly underlined the bullet point about avoiding sex for the first six weeks until his sternum healed. Dean caught on to the subtle rejection and took it like a man, no hard feelings.

Flirting with pretty girls had always one of his self-destructive ways of coping with stress and trying to make himself look like he was tough and unaffected by the situation. The doctor probably saw a lot of guys like him on a regular basis anyway, so no point in keeping up the charade.

The arrival of the nurse, the one who took his vitals on day one, meant that it was pills and incision care time. They chatted a bit as the guy carefully cut the gauze off of Dean's skin, peeling it back carefully. The stitches had a bit of yellow colored stuff crusting at the seam, which the nurse removed carefully with a pad soaked in rubbing alcohol. It was normal, he explained, it's dried plasma, blood minus the red blood cells escaping from the incision and forming a scab. It can build up pretty easily, and it's harmless. Dean was relieved that the wound was healing just fine.

"Hey," Dean began, "These meds that I'm on, do any of them cause nightmares?" The nurse paused, thinking it over.

"Narcotic painkillers have been known to cause vivid dreams," He said slowly, "Nightmares though, I really don't know. Maybe it's a combination of stress and the intense dreams." Dean thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. It made sense to him, and he didn't really want to go into detail. Especially not about his hallucination in the bathroom yesterday. The nurse finished dressing the wound and gave him his afternoon meds before moving on to the next patient.

"So, I hear you're having nightmares…" Came a voice from the other side of the curtain. A new patient had checked in yesterday, though Dean didn't know what she was in for. He had overheard her doctor calling her Miss Talbot. Despite the standard plain hospital gown, she wore expensive looking jewelry, and spoke as though she thought very highly of herself. Dean considered himself good at reading people, but she made her financial status and disregard for others incredibly blatant.

"Funny, I don't remember telling you." Dean replied, disguising his distrust of the woman with a sarcastic tone. She laughed, the sound reminded him of a mocking child.

"Well, if you don't want my help…" She lamented, emphasising the pity in her voice, "I guess I'll have accept it. Shame, though. Really." Dean rolled his eyes and bit back a retort. As much as he didn't like her, he wasn't going to pick a fight. "And here I was, ready to lend you a hand with divination." What?

"Like some Harry Potter bullshit can cure nightmares," Dean scoffed.

"Maybe it can't," Miss Talbot replied, "But maybe, Mister Winchester, it can explain the face in the mirror." The heart monitor's steady beeping gave a sudden jump. How the hell could she know about that? Dean had never mentioned it before. He sat up straight, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He grabbed the curtain that separated the two of them and yanked it back. Sitting in the bed on the other side of the room was a smug looking brunette.

She was pretty, Dean couldn't deny that, but she had a predatory look in her cold grey eyes. She smirked, knowing that she had him hooked. "How did you know about that?" He asked, keeping his voice low and level.

"I have my ways," She said, keeping her response purposefully vague. She knew that Dean knew, and appeared to enjoy his frustration. "But you're not the first I've encountered with this particular… Problem." Dean scowled, trying not to let her get to him. "Besides," Ms. Talbot continued, "This is a hospital after all, who knows how many lost spirits wander these halls?"

"Ghosts?" Dean scoffed. This was getting ridiculous. This chick is yanking his chain.

"Don't believe me?" She smiled, unperturbed, "Typical. It's not going to get better you know. It's going to follow you." Dean pulled the curtain back between them and relaxed back into his bed. Ghosts, did she really think he was that stupid? He yawned, energy spent for the moment. Might as well see what the newest ghostly dream would be.

"Good morning," He said, entering the conference room. The men and women at the table stood and greeted him back. He made sure to give each of them a firm handshake and forced a relaxed smile. Across from his seat at the table was his boss. A cousin of his, by the name of Zachariah. Zachariah's face was, like usual, set in a scowl, though he could tell that it wasn't anything he had done. He just always looked that annoyed. _I wonder what he's angry about now_?

"Good morning, sir." He said. His cousin loathed any acknowledgment of their blood ties so he never brought it up. Ignoring the greeting, Zachariah opened a manilla folder and spread a few papers on the table. _These look important_. He passed a small stack of paperclipped pages to each employee at the table and directed them to have a look through.

"I suppose you're wondering what this meeting is about. Well, I called you here because you are all being considered for a promotion. Should you accept, your contract with change," Zachariah announced, "This is the updated contract. It only becomes binding after you are promoted, so no worries about having to sign now." _What is this_? He flipped through the paper.

The company he worked for is responsible for the development and manufacturing of numerous pharmaceuticals. They supplied pharmacies and hospitals all over the country. His job had been advertising, alongside his brother Gabriel. Gabriel was in charge of the marketing team who pitched their product to distributors. He simply got the advertisements where people could see them. Television commercials, radio ad space, things like that. But this?

The contract called for absolute secrecy. No talking about work to anyone, or there would be consequences. Ones that weren't outlined. _This seems shady_ , he thought to himself. Gabriel had told him that Zachariah had been a bit jumpy lately, and had been speaking privately to a couple people in the marketing department. The employees he had spoken to always said it was nothing, not important. Had they signed contracts like this.

"Castiel?" Zachariah called for his attention. He looked up to see the others still reading through the contract. "I'm hoping you're willing to sign. I think you suit the position perfectly. It would be wonderful to have another high ranking family member, especially you, cousin." The others looked up, surprised.

"I still don't understand what exactly the position entails." Castiel replied, disturbed by his cousin's mention of their almost non-existent relationship. The room went quiet, and all attention was on Zachariah. His balding cousin scowled again, looking particularly annoyed.

"That is top secret. It involves information that is above your current position." _So_ , Castiel wondered, _I have to be promoted to even know what I'm being promoted to_. Alarm bells sounded in his head, and he knew that there was something really strange going on.

"So," Zachariah continued, "I want all of you to give some serious consideration to the promotion. We're going over each one of you fairly, I promise, there will be no biases in our final decision. You have a week to think it over." He scooped up his folder and briefcase and left the room in a hurry. More meetings probably. Castiel checked his phone for the time. He could still grab a coffee before getting to his desk with time to spare. He had only one new ad for the radio stations that he had to buy space for today.

Dean yawned deeply, then gasped as his split sternum objected to the dramatic movement. He blinked back tears of pain, glancing at his phone screen. It was the same time as it had been in the dream, but the date was different. Whatever he was seeing, it had happened months ago. It was so clear, he remembered every single detail.

"Castiel," he murmured, that was the name. The man whose face he saw, the one he dreamed about. These aren't just dreams, he deduced, these have to be memories. Could he really be watching the memories of a ghost? He reached for the folder the doctor had given him, filled with a variety of paperwork. Copies of the consent forms he had signed, the information and care pamphlets. And the name of the person whose heart he had received.

There it was. In 12 point Times New Roman, was the name of the man of his dreams. Castiel Novak. Dean's eyes widened. This couldn't be a coincidence. No, it was too perfect. He had seen this paper before, maybe his brain was substituting his donor's name for the dreams? Dean grabbed his phone and looked up the strangely familiar name. He managed to locate Castiel's obituary, and a newspaper article reporting on the recent string of young adults dying from strokes that also cited his name as one of the deceased. That dream he'd had with the shadowy stranger. That must have been when Castiel died!

Dean felt sick to his stomach. He knew now what it felt like to die. Then, he suddenly remembered where he knew the name Novak from. Lucifer Novak Morningstar. His boss. Dean's new heart once belonged to the brother of the Chief of Police! He fell back heavily against the pillows, unsure of what to do. He was living through the memories of his heart's recently deceased donor. At least he thinks so.

"Am I going crazy?" He wondered under his breath. Without warning, the curtain separating his and Miss Talbot's cots was shoved aside. Miss Talbot's eyes glittered with what Dean was sure was malicious intent.

"Perhaps. Good morning," She smiled, "Have another nightmare?" Dean scowled. She had been waiting like a vulture.

"Fine, lady," Dean snapped, irritated both by her persistence, and that she had won, "How do I fix this?"

"Call me Bela," She purred, "We can call upon your ghost's spirit to speak to you tonight. A psychic medium taught me the technique a while ago as… payment for helping her out. Did you catch the spirit's name?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "It's Castiel Novak."


	4. Introductions

Time could not have possibly moved any slower. The hours ticked by like centuries. Dean was fidgeting with his cellphone, distracting himself from checking the time every two seconds. It helped a little at least, and he discovered how addicting these smartphone games were. The whole wait to recharge or pay to continue feature was really fucking annoying though. The last thing Dean wanted was to throw money at the app, but he also hated waiting for "lives". Thankfully, his frustration overpowered his impatience. It helped keep him from giving into temptation and feeding the game his credit card info.

Bela had left with a doctor of some sort about an hour after they'd agreed to perform the divination tonight. She'd called the technique scrying. Looking at something until you see messages appear. Dean thought it sounded like some horror movie mumbo jumbo. But if it worked, he would have answers. Dean didn't want to get his hopes up, and at least he wouldn't owe Bela a thing if she failed. She seemed confident enough, but she's also in the hospital. Who knows if her brain's been scrambled or not?

Part of Dean really hoped that the magic thing worked, though he didn't fully understand why. The things he had seen through Castiel's eyes were almost impossible for him to believe. He was literally walking in someone else's shoes, reliving his memories. But if Castiel's spirit, his soul, was still connected to the heart… Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what being trapped like that. Forced to relive his past while trapped inside of a stranger's body.

There were two of Castiel's memories that really jumped out at Dean. One was the day he'd died, and the other was the meeting with Zachariah. Dean had done a little research and he found the company that they worked for. The Nirvana Corporation. It was massive, with thousands of name brand drugs on the market. In fact, his own medications were probably manufactured by these guys.

Dean could recall some of the contract that Castiel had been given, but he didn't understand why a simple promotion required that much secrecy. Unless there was some illicit activity going on. Corporations were always nasty, but this in particular really set off red flags in his mind. If he could, he would start investigating, but he had no idea where to start. The only evidence that Dean had were the memories of a dead man, and no one would believe it.

Shifting his deliberation away from the Nirvana Co., he began to pick through the memory of Castiel's death. The mere thought of that person in black left him feeling shaken, and he wasn't even sure why. A stroke couldn't be triggered by bumping into someone, and Castiel had been perfectly fine up until that moment. And on top of that, they'd stopped to watch him die.

The article in the online journal had mentioned a witness. An old woman in the hair salon Castiel had collapsed in front of. She claimed that he was walking past and simply keeled over, there was no mention of a person wearing a hoodie. And to top it off the guy didn't even seem have a face. Was Castiel the only one who could see him? Dean frowned, irritated. He had so many questions and absolutely no answers.

The door to the room creaked open, tearing Dean away from his thoughts. Bela swept into the room, looking uncharacteristically frustrated. The nurse following her made some notes on the chart at the foot of her cot and left quickly. Bela crawled back into the bed and curled up on her side with her back towards Dean. He understood the universal position for "don't talk to me" and decided against asking about it. Not everyone in this place is as lucky as he is.

Sam came to visit a couple hours later to have dinner with Dean. Jess had work that night, but she had send Sam bring a slice of pie with him. Fresh, homemade, beautiful apple pie. Dean thought he would cry, and he dug in like he hadn't eaten in a week. Pie was special, and he never got to eat it as often as he liked. Sam relayed that Jess had promised more pie after Dean got out of the hospital, and Dean was over the moon. For the first time that day, he wasn't hung up on Castiel Novak, or the ritual that he and Bela had planned.

Speaking of Bela, she hadn't moved since she came back from whatever had happened. Sam pulled the curtain back between them to give her some privacy and made sure to be quiet as to not wake her up from the nap they assumed she was having. Though Dean knew that if she was actually awake, she would most likely be eavesdropping.

Dean encouraged Sam to talk about school and his life in general. It was a good distraction from the hospital life. Since Sam was a genius, he'd obtained a large number of scholarships. Enough for a full ride until he had his degree and then some. He was using what was left to pay rent, while Jess handled some of the other necessities. They usually did homework together, seeing as they were going to school for the same thing. Dean couldn't help feeling a little guilty for stealing his brother away during the day. However, Jess's pie was more than enough to show her support of Sam's family. Nothing made Dean as happy as being welcome in such a happy family. Nothing except this pie, god damn!

But sadly, all good things must come to an end. Sam bid his brother adieu and left with the empty tupperware, leaving Dean alone once more with his thoughts. Only a few hours left until midnight, and that's when Bela is going to work her magic. Or at least try. Of course he didn't expect anything to actually happen, but he was hopeful. Even if he tried to deny it.

"He's handsome," Bela's voice broke the silence.

"Down girl, he's spoken for," Dean replied in a snarky tone, "Have a good nap?" She was quiet for a minute.

"Shame. And it was lovely, thank you." Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing his phone from the small table to the side of his cot. He went through each of his new games, using up the lives he'd accumulated during Sam's visit. And then he checked his emails. Time dragged once more. At the moment, Dean couldn't think of anything he despised more than the waiting game. Thankfully, his eyes began to droop, and he drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

 _What is this_? It was dark. His feet were cold, pressed against what felt like a gritty linoleum floor. _Where am I_? He reached out with his hands and took a hesitant few steps. The tips of his fingers brushed against a wall. _Maybe there's a switch_ … He shifted to the right, cautiously feeling all over the cold surface. For hours he followed the wall, encountering a number of right angle corners. By now he must had circled the room several times, but he'd never found a doorway. How could there be no door? He must have gotten in here somehow.

He balled up his hands and screamed out into the void in frustration. Without thinking, he slammed his fist into the wall. He went straight through. _Could this be the way out_? The floor began to tremble under his bare feet, and the wall cracked around his fist. The linoleum broke below him, and he fell. And he fell. And he fell. _How deep is this pit anyway_? His stomach flipped inside him as he was overcome by vertigo.

There was a sound, a soft thumping that echoed in his ears. The sensation of falling ebbed away as the pounding grew louder, bigger, reverberating through his entire being. The cold shadow around him began to fade into warmth, and a soft red glow soothed his once unseeing eyes. Surrounded by the beating, he came to realize where he was. _It's a heart_ , he said, but he didn't know whose heart it was.

He heard a voice, distant and deep, and the thumping increased in frequency as they spoke. He felt excited, though he didn't know why. The voice, his body. The one it keeps alive? They're alive. "Castiel Novak." _But who is Castiel_ he wondered. _Is that me_? He couldn't remember where he had been before the darkness found him. He tried, but it hurt him to concentrate. Opening his eyes, a shape had appeared in his glow. _Mirror_ he recalled. He gazed into and saw his face. Messy black hair and tired blue eyes. _That's me_ , he said, _I am Castiel_.

"Dean!" Dean groaned as Bela nudged him awake. "Wake up! It's time!" Dean blinked in the dim lighting at the excited woman at his bedside. He was too groggy to think back on the dream he'd had. Another dream about Castiel. This one, like the first dream he'd had, was bizarre. It was surreal, and he wondered if that's what it felt like to be dead. The idea of a tiny man living inside his transplanted heart was very strange indeed.

"Quit it, I'm awake!" He grumbled, shoving Bela away. He sat up and stretched a bit before standing and following her to the nearest bathroom. Dean was surprised when she pulled out a non disposable lighter and handed it to him. The flame wasn't bright enough to illuminate the room, but it did make him look creepy in the mirror's reflection.

"Now what?" He asked, feeling a bit like a fool. It reminded him of kids playing Bloody Mary. Looking for ghosts in mirrors.

"Look into the mirror and clear your mind. Let yourself fall out of focus." Bela said, "It'll feel like spacing out." Dean blinked in surprise. The first time he'd seen Castiel's face, he'd zoned out in front of a mirror. What a weird coincidence. As stupid as he felt, he locked eyes with his reflection and let his mind wander.

He thought about his dreams, the shadows, the memories. He thought about Castiel. Losing track of time, he was surprised by a touch on his shoulder. Bela was wide eyed, pointing at the mirror. Dean turned around and his breath caught in his throat. Illuminated by the flickering light, was the man himself.

"Castiel?" He asked, alarmed. The face in the mirror narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.

"Who are you?" Castiel asked, and Dean almost took a step back. The ghost's eyes looked him over, then Bela. "Where am I?"

"You're in a mirror," Bela piped up. Castiel frowned, and lifted his hands. They passed through the glass and he stepped through to the other side. Dean's side. He was now face to face with the ghost of his heart donor.

"I said, who are you?" Castiel asked, his voice low and threatening.

"I'm Dean," Dean replied, his heart pounding, "I'm the one who got your heart." Castiel's eyes widened.

"What are you saying?" The ghost looked at his hands. He reached for the sink but his fingers passed through the porcelain. He whirled, looking frightened. "Am I… Am I dead?" Dean nodded quietly. "I remember now…" Dean gave him what he hoped was a sympathetic look. Bela had backed up and was observing their interactions quietly.

"It was the man in black wasn't it?" Dean asked, "He killed you?" Castiel's face twisted in what looked like anger, and the lightbulbs above their heads flickered. Dean jumped and Castiel looked up in surprise.

"How did you know that?" He asked accusingly.

"Uh," Dean mumbled, "I've kind of been reliving your memories and stuff whenever I fall asleep." Castiel squinted at him, he seems to do that a lot. Then he sighed and his shoulders slumped.

"So, I guess I really am dead…" Dean didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say anyway. He's not really good at comforting people.

"But why are you still on earth?" Dean asked slowly, "Why didn't you go to heaven or anything?" Castiel's eyes met with his.

"I was in heaven," He said, irritated, "The shadow ripped me out."

"So you came back here after that. But your body was dead," Dean wondered aloud, "So you attached to the closest living organ you had left. Your heart. I got your heart." Castiel's stare felt like it was burning a hole through his head and the silence was almost painfully uncomfortable.

"I suppose." Castiel said at last, his face blank. Dean couldn't tell what he was thinking at all. Then the ghost looked at Bela. "And who are you?"

"Bela Talbot," She said with a knowing smirk, "I'm the one that made it possible for you to have this talk." Castiel squinted again, regarding her cautiously.

"I know that name," He said, and Bela's eyes widened in surprise. He smiled, but it was not a friendly smile. It was more of a critical grin. "You were hired once by my cousin, Zachariah. What was it exactly that you were smuggling for him?" Bela's surprise turned quickly hostile.

"I don't disclose my client's information. It's strictly confidential." She crossed her arms over her chest and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving Dean alone with the ghost. Dean didn't know what to say at this point, so he looked uncomfortably at the floor.

"What do we do now?" Castiel asked at last. Dean shrugged. He only just found out that ghosts exist.

"Uh, can you go invisible?" He asked. Castiel's head tilted to one side. The look bore resemblance to a confused little puppy. "You know, like ghosts on the tv. They can disappear, go through walls and float around. Move stuff. You made the lights flicker." Castiel looked at his hands again. Dean turned the light on, squinting as the fluorescent light made his eyes hurt. Castiel seemed unaffected, not having a body probably helped. Now illuminated, he noticed that Castiel's incorporeal form was translucent. Without the little flame to cast shadows, he was actually kinda handsome.

Castiel set his jaw and held out his hand. It was like he knew that Dean was going to try to give him the lighter. He held up the lighter for him to take. Castiel reached out but his fingers passed through the metal and instead touched Dean's hand. Both men recoiled in surprise.

"Either your ghosty voodoo doesn't work on me because I have your heart, or ghosts can touch people," He said. Castiel narrowed his eyes and frowned at the lighter. He reached out again, but this time, he was able to pull the damn thing out of Dean's hand. He looked up and smiled triumphantly. He tossed the lighter back and turned around.

"...You don't have a reflection," Dean muttered. Castiel didn't acknowledge what Dean had said, but he knew he'd heard it. The ghost's eyes narrowed at the glass, and Dean felt a pang of frustration grow in his chest. He placed his hand over his broken sternum and pressed gently, sending pain shooting through his ribs. Castiel didn't react.

"So it looks like we're not that connected. You can't feel my pain." Castiel turned, regarding Dean over his shoulder.

"Not physical pain," He said, his deep and slightly gravelly voice was less threatening than it was earlier, "But I can feel your emotions." Oh.

"I can feel yours," Dean replied. Castiel's apparition flickered then disappeared. Dean jumped and looked around.

- _I'm still here_ -, Castiel said, his voice sounding in Dean's head, - _I grew tired of holding that form_.- So it takes energy to be visible to people? Dean wondered if he could hear all of his thoughts, but the ghost didn't say anything so the answer was probably not. Walking back to his room, he contemplated what life is going to be like in the future. Communicating telepathically with a ghost, even just trying, wasn't exactly how he thought he'd be spending his evening, or the rest of his life. However long that might be.


	5. Purgatory

Dean woke up with a start, his skin cold and clammy, and covered with sweat. He jolted upright, gasping to catch his breath. A nurse was standing next to him looking worried, and the loud panicked beeping of the heart monitor began to slow slightly. He glanced around the room in fright, the tiny bit of light that escaped the blinds casting great shadows. Shadows, Dean shuddered. The man in black had been haunting him, and he was certain that it had been bothering Castiel too.

"Are you alright?" The nurse asked. Dean swallowed his fear and nodded.

"It's just a bad dream." Satisfied with his answer, she left the room. In the silence, Dean wondered if Castiel could see what he saw in his dreams. Could ghosts dream?

"Cas?" Dean asked softly, not wanting to attract Bela's attention. It was early enough in the morning that she was probably sleeping, but he wasn't willing to risk it. He waited a few minutes before he fell back onto his pillows. Dean began to question whether or not he had dreamed the whole thing up.

-What do you want?- Castiel's voice rang in his head. Nope, not a dream.

"Can you dream?" He asked. Castiel didn't answer, and Dean felt nervous that he might have asked something bad, or brought up a painful memory.

-No.- Cas answered at last, and Dean felt slightly relieved that Castiel hadn't gotten upset, at least noticeably. It might still be an uncomfortable subject, though. Best to not mention it again.

"I dreamed about the guy in black." Dean continued, not so subtly trying to change the subject. This time, he could feel Castiel's agitation at the mention of the mysterious figure. "It was the same dream as the last one." He had told the ghost which of his memories he had experienced after the transplant, including the memory of Zachariah and the Nirvana Corporation. Cas had been reluctant to talk about it, so Dean didn't push.

-I don't care.- Dean could practically feel the scowl he was sure Cas would have sent his way if he had been visible. Dean muttered an apology and began to run his fingers lightly over his sternum. Even through the bandages, he could feel the lumpy stitches holding him together.

Today was set to be his last full day in the hospital, tomorrow morning he would check out, and go home. Dean had already emailed Lucifer that he would be coming back soon, but he would need to be on desk duty for the next couple of months until his sternum glues itself back together. He hadn't mentioned to Castiel that he worked for one of his brothers. He had the feeling Cas doesn't like him very much, and that he would hate to be reminded of his untimely demise. Dean was certain he didn't know what Cas felt like, but the mere thought of never being able to talk to Sammy again hurt like a bitch. It was the best amount of empathy that he could muster at the moment.

The silence was uncomfortable, but Dean decided to let it be. He prefered the quiet to rambling to Cas in an attempt to start a conversation. He picked up his phone and began to play with the games he had downloaded to pass the time. Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He looked up from his phone to find Castiel standing at the side of his bed, only inches away from him.

Dean jumped, wincing in pain as his chest protested the sudden movement. "Jesus!" He gasped, "What the hell, Cas?" The ghost squinted at him, unperturbed by the rapid beeping of the machine next to him. If Bela had been sleeping still, she probably wasn't any more.

-I'm experimenting.- He explained, though that didn't justify the heart attack he'd almost given Dean.

"Wha- Experimenting?" Dean put his hand on his chest, trying to calm his new heart before it got damaged or something. "Don't do that!"

-Do what?- Castiel asked, and Dean gaped at him in surprise. None of Cas's memories could have prepared him for how socially awkward this man was. But before he could say something, the curtain pulled back.

"Excuse me, but some of us are trying to sleep." A groggy, agitated looking Bela scowled at them. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to explain the concept of personal space to a ghost." Dean said with a pointed look in Cas's direction. Bela blinked at him.

"Where is he?" She asked, "I don't see him." Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

-I told you, I've been experimenting.- Castiel said in his almost monotone gravelly voice. Dean could sense the smug satisfaction radiating off of him.

"Apparently," Dean turned to glower at the ghost, "He's experimenting with ghostyness." Bela frowned and pulled the curtain closed again.

"Next time, experiment quietly." Her parting words were laced with unspoken threats. Dean bit his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So," He hissed, his voice barely above a whisper, "You can turn invisible to everyone but me. Don't scare me like that again or you'll ruin your heart." Castiel raised an eyebrow at the warning, and Dean suddenly felt weirdly flustered. He didn't understand why, but he couldn't look Cas in the eye. He repressed a groan.

-If you die, my soul will be forfeit to the shadows.- Cas said, -I might as well stay here instead. It's better than purgatory, but not by much." Ouch, Dean flinched slightly, feeling surprisingly hurt by Castiel's harsh tone. He had a feeling that Cas was still coping with his death, and lashing out at the only person he could. He thought again about how he would feel if he wasn't able to talk to his brother ever again, and he understood where Cas's frustration was coming from. However, he wasn't going to show it.

Dean didn't say anything. Instead, he returned to his phone, This time to check for a reply from Lucifer. He opened the email, purposefully angling the screen away from Castiel. The ghost had settled into the chair by the small table and begun to fidget with the empty plastic cup. He tried repeatedly to pick it up and put it down, but he was only able to touch it about a quarter of the time. Practicing his haunting most likely.

Dean ignored the frustration that he could feel through their connection. Adding the day he planned to return to work to his schedule, Dean stretched cautiously and rang for a nurse to help him get to breakfast. This time, he wanted to eat in the cafeteria. Castiel ignored the familiar nurse when he walked into the room with a wheelchair, but he did stopped messing with the cup. Dean settled into the chair, striking up a conversation as soon as he was out of Bela's earshot.

"I imagine things can get pretty crazy really fast around here," Dean mused, thinking about the drama that occurred on his favorite medical show, Doctor Sexy, "Being a nurse has gotta be tough." The nurse laughed, it was a short laugh, but it felt genuine.

"You have no idea," He said, smiling, "What about your job?"

"Yeah, it's pretty hard sometimes," Dean admitted, "But saving people is worth it." The nurse agreed wholeheartedly, and pushed him through the open double doors into the cafeteria. After ten minutes in line, Dean settled at an empty table and chowed down. He knew he was going to miss the food when he went home, it was pretty great not having to cook for himself every meal.

Dean noticed Castiel in the corner of his eye, wandering through the fairly crowded room. He passed right through people, which is an unnerving sight, making some of them shiver. Looks like ghosts really are cold. Cas's hands hadn't been cold when he'd tried to pick up the lighter last night, but that might be because of their connection. He turned to glance in Dean's direction and they made eye contact. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he felt the stress that Cas was going through.

"I'll get that for you," The nurse interrupted, and Dean blinked in confusion. Oh, he'd finished eating while thinking about Cas. Dean leaned back against the wheelchair that the doctor wanted him to use until check out time. He chided himself internally for getting so distracted like that. He hated how spacy and out of it he'd been lately, most of it related to the ghost tethered to his heart.

While the nurse was taking care of his empty plate and tray, Castiel approached Dean. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked in a hushed tone. Cas looked at him squinted eyes. He did that a lot when he thought Dean had said something dumb.

-Because I'm stuck to you,- He said bluntly, -You have my heart, and wherever it goes, I go.- Right, Dean awkwardly hummed in acknowledgment of the stupidity of his question. He almost jumped in surprise when the nurse reappeared, walking straight through Castiel's body.

"Woah, cold spot," He said with a shiver, goosebumps visible on his arms, "Ready to head back to your room?" Dean nodded quietly, saying nothing the entire trip back. He settled into the cot, making a mental note that Bela was gone again when he'd arrived. He never asked what she was in the hospital for, and part of him really wanted to know. She would probably tell him no, or lie. One of those.

Castiel began to pace the length of the room, like an animal in a cage. Each time he passed by a lamp, it would flicker in response to the energy he was emitting. Dean could feel the spirit's restlessness and misery deep in his chest. He said nothing, not wanting to make things worse for him. Cas walked up to the plastic cup and slammed his fist down on top of it. It was crushed beneath his hand, and the little bedside table ratted from the force. The lightbulb in the lamp on the table burned out in the same moment.

"Woah, Cas," Dean recoiled in alarm, "What the hell are you doing?" The ghost shot a murderous look at him, and dissipated. The anger and sorrow he could feel in their link felt like a massive, painful knot in his chest, and Dean wondered if there was anything he could do. Probably not, this must be why the ghosts in the movies and books were always so upset. This was no way to live, well, unlive? Exist? He wasn't sure what term was appropriate here.

At checkout the following day, Sam came to pick Dean up and take him back to his apartment. He offered to bring him some food, or to take him to his place for dinner, but Dean politely declined. Castiel was still stressed, and it would be pretty terrible if he broke something at Sam and Jess's apartment. Dean let himself in and sat down heavily onto his couch. It's good to be home.

Cas reappeared, and began to explore Dean's flat. He browsed the DVD collection on a small shelf next to the television, and looked over the bookshelf that was doubling as a curiosity shelf. He stopped in front of the largest picture frame on the shelf, the one holding the photo of Dean's mother.

"Is this your mother?" Cas asked, this time he spoke aloud instead of telepathically. Dean nodded, feeling a pang of sadness in his chest. Castiel's expression changed when he felt how much Dean missed her, and Dean felt a similar feeling coming from the ghost.

"Did you lose your mom too?" Dean asked softly, and it was Castiel's turn to nod quietly. It was kinda nice to know that they at least had something in common. Cas moved on from the photograph and continued his walk through the apartment while Dean turned on the TV to watch the recorded new episodes of Doctor Sexy. Cas rolled his eyes when he returned to the living room, but sat down on the couch anyway and watched with him.

When the episode ended, Dean felt kind of antsy. He had been basically bedridden for the past week, and he wanted to walk. Maybe pick up some Chinese takeout on the way back. Castiel dissipated again as Dean grabbed the essentials, his wallet with his licenses and concealed carry permit, his badge, keys, phone, and his gun, which he tucked into the back of his waistband.

-Why do you have a gun?- Cas asked as Dean locked the door behind him.

"I work for the police department," Dean replied as he took the elevator to the ground floor rather than take the stairs like he preferred. "You never know when you'll need it." Castiel didn't say anything else, and Dean stepped out the building. He took a deep breath and zipped up his jacket against the brisk air.

He walked towards the main strip, which had several stores along the length of the street. It had a few stores that Dean liked, a beer distributor, a consignment store where he bought much of his clothes, a few places that had good takeout, and a big box store where he also got groceries.

As he walked, movement across the street caught his eye. Turning, he saw a couple of young women talking and smiling. Walking towards them was a person dressed head to toe in black. A shiver ran down his spine.

"Cas," Dean said, his voice thick with fear, "Is that..?"

-It's him, it's the shadow.-


	6. In the Shadows

It felt like time had slowed. Dean tried to run, but his limbs felt heavy and sluggish. Like in a nightmare. The pounding of his work boots sent shockwaves through his bones, and needles of pain erupted in his chest. He was helpless to the scene unfolding in front of him.

The person in the black hoodie continued, unbothered by Dean's desperate shout, knocking against the shoulder of one of the young women. She twisted, the force of the blow pushing her sideways. The figure stopped, turning to stare quietly at their victim. The woman's eyes widened and she stumbled. It was just like Castiel had remembered. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she dropped to the pavement. Her companion spun around in a panic, catching her head before it cracked against the concrete.

"Hey! What's happening?" She cried out, "Wake up!" The man in black lifted his head, turning to face Dean. Where his face should have been was nothing. It was so dark beneath the hood, that it looked like a black hole. Nothing could escape from it. Time returned to normal as Dean came to a stop beside the unconscious woman. Before he could say anything, the shadow man turned to water, his body dropping into a puddle of black and vanished with a gust of icy wind.

-Dean!- Castiel's telepathic shout snapped Dean back to attention. If this incident was anything like Castiel's shared memory, then this woman was about to die. He went down hard on his knees, the pain distracting him from the more serious hurt in his chest. He took the woman's wrist, feeling for a pulse. His other hand whipped out his phone.

"911, what's your emergency?" An operator answered. Dean pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder.

"I need an ambulance at the intersection of Main Street and Willow Avenue. A woman is unconscious and her pulse is weak." Dean said quickly. The friend began to cry, tears dripping from her face onto the dying woman's.

"An ambulance is on their way, please stay on the line." Dean relayed the information to the panicking girl, his eyes darting to the sidewalk where the shadow had been. A chill lingered in the air, one that even the adrenaline coursing his veins couldn't numb. The hairs on his back and neck stood on end.

"Dean," Castiel's voice caught his attention, "Look." Dean glanced up to see him standing by the woman's feet. Only a couple feet away, shadow bubbled on the concrete, forming a puddle that swallowed any light that came close. Before his eyes, the woman sat up. He would have thought she was alright, except she left her body lying on the ground beneath her. She turned, looking between Dean and Cas with terror in her eyes. Her hair fluttered, caught by a breeze that Dean couldn't feel. Castiel could feel it though, his coat tails tugged lightly in the direction of the blackness.

"What's happening to me?" She asked, her voice reverberated as though they were in a cave. "Help me!" The pool of shadow reached out, a hand and arm forming. It grabbed her feet, and pulled. She screamed, so loud and sharp that it hurt. It was only for a moment, as she vanished into the dark. She was gone.

Dean grabbed her wrist again as the sound of an ambulance siren came into range. Her pulse had faded, and her hand felt cold. He leaned back on his feet, feeling disconnected from the chaos that erupted when the paramedics arrived. He stood up slowly, letting the pain in his bruised kneecaps and split sternum bring him back to earth.

"It's not a coincidence," Dean murmured, leaning back against a red brick wall in front of the scene. The EMTs broke out the defibrillator, trying to force her heart to resume beating. Her friend sobbed openly, loudly, but her cries felt like background noise.

"Clear!" a paramedic called, before applying the pads to her chest once more. Castiel stood next to Dean, watching quietly.

"She's not going to wake up." Cas said quietly, his face and voice emotionless. "Even if her heart starts beating again, she'll be brain dead." Dean didn't say anything, instead jamming his hands into his pockets. He clenched his jaw as the adrenaline in his system faded, the pains in his chest and legs increasing in severity.

"I'm going to call it," One of the EMTs said at last, "Time of death 6:31 pm." The friend screamed, crying harder. Another medic fetched a blanket, draping it over her shoulders. They covered the dead woman's body with a sheet and called the police department. It took only 10 minutes for two patrol cars to arrive.

Out of one car stepped Crowley and Azazel. From the other, Bobby Singer. Bobby, a long time friend of John Winchester and a cop who was approaching retirement. Despite their familiarity, Dean didn't acknowledge them. His eyes stayed on the body of the young woman. Even though a cause of death hadn't been announced, he knew it would be the same thing Cas had died of. The same thing a whopping 3 young adults had died of in the past month. A hemorrhagic stroke.

A small crowd had begun to appear, which Crowley and Azazel blocked off. Bobby approached the paramedics, discussing the death that had just occurred. All they needed now was a quick investigation, just to make sure there weren't any obvious signs of murder. The crying woman had managed to calm down enough to answer short yes and no questions, so Bobby went through the routine questions with her.

Dean saw Azazel laugh at something Crowley had said, but he turned his attention back to the body. Having been ruled an apparent natural death, they put her into a body bag. The police wouldn't be needed anymore unless the coroner found something. The ambulance drove off, dead girl and living girl inside, and the crowd dispersed.

"What a coincidence," Crowley said, sauntering over to Dean. "What brings mister broken heart here tonight? Are you even allowed to walk around by yourself? Where's the sexy nurse in lingerie?" From the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas turn to look at Crowley inquisitively.

"Ha ha." Dean laughed dryly, "I live near here, remember?" Crowley rolled his eyes.

"I'll make sure not to mention that you were up and about, wouldn't want to end your little vacation prematurely." Dean turned his head, looking down at his coworker.

"Thank you." He said, not letting any emotions color his words, "I'll see you next week." Crowley nodded and turned to leave with Azazel. Bobby stayed, waiting until the two had driven off before he said anything.

"I have to say I was surprised to see you here." Bobby adjusted his hat, "Especially so soon after your emergency." Dean shrugged.

"They had me in a wheelchair for a week, I had to stretch my legs." The presence of the man who helped to raise him when his dad wasn't around was calming. He knew the emotional distress was going to hit at some point, but Bobby made him feel safer. At least for now. "How have you been Bobby?"

The gruff cop huffed, putting his hands in his pockets, "Bored. You better hurry up and heal so I've got someone to boss around again." Dean smiled, knowing the insults came from a place of fatherly love. He patted Bobby on the shoulder and waved him off.

The sun had set by now, and the streetlights had turned on. Without the chaos, Dean took notice of the heavy emptiness in his stomach. Even murder couldn't quell hunger. He turned to continue his trip to the restaurant, only now realizing that Cas had disappeared again. As the silence hung in the damp air, there was an ache deep in his chest. Anxiety, fear, raw emotions that made him tremble. It wasn't just his terror that gripped him, but it was Castiel's as well.

"Cas," Dean said, his voice shaky, "Buddy, you okay?" He almost jumped when Castiel materialized in front of him.

"Why would I be okay?" He asked, furious, "I'm dead! That woman is dead! It wasn't an accident, I was murdered by something that neither of us can explain!"

"I'm sorry." Cas stared him down. "I'm sorry that you're dead. I'm sorry that I couldn't do anything back there." Dean met Castiel's eyes and continued, " I'm sorry that there's nothing that I can do." The minutes ticked by as man and ghost stood in silence.

"I'm sorry." Castiel sighed. Dean was slightly taken aback. "I've been unfair to you. It's not your fault that any of this happened…" He paused, his shoulders tense, "But maybe we can do something about it."

"How?" Dean asked, feeling a shred of hope break through the doubt, "What can a human and a ghost do about a shadow on a killing spree?" Castiel looked away.

"I… I know someone who _might_ be able to tell us something…" He said slowly. "But the chances of him trusting you are slim at best."

"Well it's something." Dean said, "Who is he?"

"He's a historian, works in the local museum," Cas paced uncomfortably, "He used to work for my father…" Oh. Dean licked his lips, looking down the street. He knew better than to probe, especially when he could sense Castiel's discomfort. "My connection to him doesn't matter now, it would be a bad idea for me to speak with him. He's very paranoid and rarely leaves the office. You'll have to convince him to even listen to you."

"So, is telling him the truth about this thing out?" Castiel shifted his weight with a noncommittal grunt. "Okay." Dean muttered to himself. Cas dissipated, leaving him alone on the dark street. Not alone in the truest sense, but he felt uneasy about the events that had unfolded here. But fear didn't stop his stomach from complaining.

He walked quickly, hands out of his pockets in case he needed to defend himself. Would he even be able to hit the shadow? What could fists or bullets do to something like this? It had also been invisible to everyone but him. Perhaps his link to Castiel had something to do with that. Nothing certain. He'd caught numerous killers, murder is old news, but this wasn't human. It was a monster.

Dean was only able to relax slightly when he made it to the Chinese place. The clerk, a middle aged man with short black hair, took his order and money, then disappeared into the back to give the receipt to the cook. Sitting behind the counter was a young girl with an open notebook. It was filled with what looked like homework questions from school, written neatly in orange ink. She worked her way through them quietly, writing down answers with a bubblegum pink gel pen.

A small radio sat next to her, tuned in to a station playing music targeted to middle and elementary school kids. 20 minutes of waiting held numerous songs that Dean kind of recognized from the Muppet Show, and many new ones by some teeny bop stars that he had never heard of before. Which was a relief because they were pretty terrible in his opinion. He had nothing against the artists, or the kids who liked them, but it was really far from the stuff he listened to.

It was a relief when his food was ready, Dean didn't know how much more he could take. Castiel had been quiet for the past half hour, which Dean assumed wasn't going to change any time in the walk home. He was correct.

Dean wasn't in the mood to eat in silence, so he turned on an old radio that sat on a shelf by the small table. Classic rock was his favorite music genre, the voices of stars from a different age made him feel better. Cas appeared on the couch, peering curiously at a classic car magazine that sat on the coffee table. Neither of them said anything for the duration of Dean's meal. He cleaned up quietly, promising himself that he would wash the utensils in the morning. Maybe.

"Goodnight Cas," Dean said as he passed by the couch. Castiel grunted his acknowledgment quietly as all but one light in the room went dark. He ignored his toothbrush and he put off cleaning his stitches for the time being. Fatigue hit him like a train, and he dropped his jeans on the floor and fell into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


End file.
